Three days later

The tinkle of the shop bell announced another customer. Kiel looked up from the mortar and pestle he was hunched over, grinding dried yarrow root into a fine powder. He straightened his back, wincing as a twinge ran up his spine. Long hours bent over the workbench took their toll.

Plastering on his most ingratiating smile, he turned to greet the newcomer. "Welcome to Barrow’s Apothecary! How may I assist you today?"

The woman who had entered was well-dressed, her silk gown and delicate lace gloves marking her as minor nobility, or perhaps a wealthy merchant's wife. She cast an appraising eye over the cluttered shelves lining the shop walls, taking in the glass bottles and labeled jars.

Kiel noted the way her gaze lingered on the cosmetic preparations - the rose petal cream, the tincture of pearl dust, the ambergris and honey soap.

Vanity it is, then.

"Good day to you," the woman said, approaching the counter. "I am Madam Eliza Dunwall. I am seeking a remedy for...a delicate matter." She lowered her voice. "I have heard that your establishment provides certain specialty treatments, for select clientele."

Kiel maintained his placid smile, giving no sign of the predatory gleam that flashed through him. Another one, desperate to stave off the ravages of time. They were like moths to a flame.

"But of course, madam," he replied smoothly, subtly adjusting his posture to seem smaller, meeker. The demeanor of the helpful, harmless apprentice. "My master, Barrow, is highly skilled in crafting personalized preparations. If you would care to discuss your needs in greater privacy, I can escort you to the consultation room..."

He gestured to the curtained doorway behind the counter. The noblewoman hesitated a moment, then squared her shoulders and gave a nod. "Yes, I think that would be best."

Kiel bobbed his head and shuffled out from behind the counter, careful to maintain his servile hunch. He held the curtain aside and ushered Madam Dunwall through with a murmured "After you."

As he followed her into the chamber, he let his [Skill Sense] unfurl, that ephemeral net of mana filaments that reached out from his core to taste the air around him. He could feel the muffled glow of the noblewoman's Class - some minor [Courtier] variant, threaded with the telltale metallics of [Etiquette] and [Flattery].

Nothing of interest there.

But as he brushed past her to pull out a chair, he caught the faintest tingle of something else. A wisp of a passive skill, buried deep. He focused his senses, trying to tease it out.

There. Shining like a silver fishhook in the depths. [Flawless Complexion]. A Level 2 skill, if he was any judge. It made sense - noble ladies guarded their unblemished skin like a treasure. Anything to set them apart from the ruddy, pockmarked rabble.

Kiel filed the information away, his mind already spinning with possibilities. If he were an [Alchemist], he could isolate that skill, distill its essence into one of his cosmetic creams... The fine ladies of the court would beat down his door, and hang the expense.

He seated himself across from Madam Dunwall and slid into his concerned professional mask. "Now, tell me what troubles you, and let us see if we can find a solution."

An hour later, the noblewoman departed, a small jar of "Porcelain Perfection Unguent" carefully wrapped in silk and tucked into her beaded reticule. Her purse was considerably lighter, and Kiel's secret coffer that much heavier.

As he watched her vanish into the street through the shop windows, Kiel allowed himself a tiny smile of satisfaction. One more seed of reputation planted, one more whisper that would spread through the salons and sitting rooms of the wealthy. Barrow’s could work miracles, for the right price. Just come after dusk, and ask for the special treatments.

A [Skill Trainer] of his level wouldn’t be enough to bring in the coin, this was the reason he had chosen the [Pharmacist] guise.

Feeling pleased by his success, Kiel turned his attention back to grinding the yarrow. The common remedies and simples were still the bread and butter of his trade. The tonics for cough, the salves for rash and boils, the teas to ease a sour stomach or a restless mind. They kept gold trickling into his coffers and allowed him to maintain his facade.

Still, they were so dreadfully dull to make. The same rote preparations, day in and day out. Occasionally, he'd let himself experiment - slip a pinch of mugwort in the headache powder, finely chopped Lover's Sigh petals into the tea for easing melancholy. Just to see what would happen.

Luckily, his [Hedge Alchemy] skill prevented any...unfortunate interactions. It wouldn't do to have a society matron breaking out in hives or speaking in limericks after sampling his wares. The blowback would be catastrophic.

Kiel continued his work, falling into the familiar rhythms. Crush, sift, measure, mix. Occasionally jotting a note with a nub of charcoal on a scrap of parchment. He barely noticed when the door burst open and a scrawny figure in a patched tunic stood at the doorway.

Dot. Of course. The thirteen-year-old spent more time in the apothecary than out on the streets these days.

"Well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure of your esteemed presence, my good sir?" Kiel gave a courtly bow, eliciting a snort of laughter from the urchin.

"Aw, lay off, Kiel. You know it's just me." Dot sauntered into the shop, hopping up to perch on a high stool and swinging his skinny legs. "Got anything exciting brewing? Any more of those stink pellets that made Lord Farthington's hounds go bonkers?"

Kiel wagged a stern finger. "You know those were an accident. I was attempting to concoct a remedy for canine flatulence." Though he couldn't quite suppress a snicker at the memory of the lord and his prize hunting pack yelping and howling.

"Sure, whatever you say." Dot leaned over to peer at the distillation apparatus, his nose wrinkling. "So what's this one do? Turn folks green? Make 'em speak in rhymes?"

"Tragically, nothing so amusing." Kiel adjusted the flow of vitriol with a careful hand. "Just a nephroleptic for old man Garthen's gout."

"A neff-what for who now?"

"A syrup to ease the ache in his swollen big toe." Kiel decanted the liquid into a waiting flask, the fumes making his eyes water.

Dot made a face. "Boring. You should make something that lets a fellow shoot lightning from his bum."

Kiel paused to regard the boy. There was an uncharacteristic tension in his thin frame, a restless energy sparking beneath his skin. This wasn't just one of Dot's usual social calls. Something was up.

"All right, out with it. What sort of trouble are you in this time? If it's the fishmonger again, I told you not to pilfer from his barrels. The man's got a [Dozy Salesman] 3 skill but he makes up for it with pure bloody-mindedness."

"Naw, I ain't stolen nothing! Well, not recently anyways. And the last time was medicinal!"

"Swiping brandy is only medicinal if you don't chug it behind the stables, you little sot."

"That's ree-dick-you-luss!” Dot huffed. “I'm as sober as a Cleric at a funeral."

The boy hopped down from the stool, meandering among the shelves in a way that set Kiel's teeth on edge. "...You got any more angel toe rot in? I need to stock up."

"I think you mean Angelica root. And no, you don't. The tincture is for soothing digestive ailments, not...whatever juvenile fiddling you lot get up to. Leave my inventory in peace, if you please."

Dot smirked, but ceased his fiddling. He leaned against a shelf stacked with jars of preserves and tisanes, fixing Kiel with that unsettlingly intent stare of his. There was an old soul lurking behind those impish eyes, Kiel often thought. One that had seen far too much.

"Anyways, I didn't come to ruffle your precious herbs. I got some nice pocket fripperies from a gentleman who took a tumble near the canals and suffered a sudden loss of trousers. Though you'd want first crack at 'em."

The boy fished in his tunic and produced a bundle of fine white handkerchiefs, a silver pocket watch, and a coin purse, splaying them over the scarred wood of the counter.

Kiel bit back a sigh. The child's incorrigible thieving was going to get him a set of irons one day. But he couldn't find it in himself to chastise the little scamp too harshly. At least he wasn't picking pockets for [Gutter Rat] ranks anymore.

"Very thoughtful of you to consider me, but I'll have to decline on grounds of the Warden's edicts on reselling stolen goods." Kiel swept the fripperies back into the boy's hands. "Best see if you can fence those to someone whose livelihood doesn't depend on staying off the Inquisition's radar."

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Dot shrugged, tucking the loot back into his patchwork clothes. "Suit yourself. More silvers for my hidey-hole, yeah?"

"Speaking of hidey-holes, I don't suppose you've bothered learning a trade other than picking the odd pocket and committing random acts of mischief with my supplies?"

The boy pouted, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "I told you, I'm just waiting for my class to show up! When I get my blue box, everything's gonna change. I'll be one of them high level types - a [Knight] or a [Mage] or maybe even one of them that battle dragons!"

"[Dragon Slayer] is not a starting class, Dot," Kiel hid a smile. "You're more likely to end up apprentice to Crazy Jenkins over on Rutter Lane."

The old man had some sort of [Vermin Whisperer] class and spent his days crooning to the rats. He'd always had a soft spot for strays.

Dot stuck out his tongue. "Yuck. I'll eat my own toes before I end up talking to rats."

"The way you're going, you're more likely to end up working off a sentence with the city sweeps."

"Nah, soon as I get my first class, things are gonna change. You'll see. I'll get some totally nova Ultra class and you and me will hightail it outta this stinky city and live like kings!"

"Kings generally don't sleep in haylofts."

"Details! Anyways I'll be snoozing on goose feathers and drinking outta gold cups before you know it. And I'll buy you that big fancy house up on the hill, the one with all the ivy and froo-froo gardens."

The child's ceaseless optimism made something clench in Kiel's chest. If only life worked that way. But he'd seen too many street sparrows end up in the gutters or the gibbets to hold out much hope for a happy ending.

Urchins like Dot didn't get fairy tale classes. They got [Cutpurse] or [Trickster] if they were lucky, and did their thieving under color of the law. If they weren't...well, the brothels and gambling halls were never short of new blood.

Not Dot. I won't let that happen. The boy deserves better.

"Be sure to get me one with a nice potions cellar, then. And a garden for rare herbs." Kiel said lightly, giving the boy a pat on the shoulder.

Dot grinned up at him, that irrepressible gleam back in his eye. "Sure thing! I'll put in an order for one with a moat and a drawbridge too. And a big sign out front that says 'Kiel's Place, No Noobs Allowed!'"

Despite himself, Kiel laughed. Maybe it was foolish to indulge the child's delusions, but what was the harm in it? Let him have his dreams for now. The world would beat the hope out of him soon enough.

An idea began to take shape in Kiel's mind, a dangerous, reckless idea, but he shoved it down for the moment. Now wasn't the time. He still had work to do.

"You want to make yourself useful, Your Highness? Give me a hand grinding up these fennel seeds. Mind you don't crush them, I just need the essential oils extracted."

Dot bounced on his toes and scampered over to the workstation, snatching up the mortar and pestle. "On it, boss!" He set to the task with gusto, tongue poking out between his teeth.

Kiel watched him. For all his precociousness, Dot took direction surprisingly well when he felt his skills were respected. The boy might lack book learning, but his mind was quick as a sling bullet and he had clever hands. With the right training, he could go far.

But this is no life for a child. A shop full of poisons and shady back-room dealings. He deserves a proper apprenticeship, a chance to really make something of himself.

Kiel sighed. Maybe when all this was over. When he'd made his fortune and could finally wash his hands of this ghastly business. Then he'd see about getting Dot set up with a real trade, something respectable. Until then...well, he'd just have to keep the boy safe as best he could.

Several hours passed, the two of them working side by side in the cluttered shop. Dot proved a quick study, nimbly adjusting valve flows and monitoring brazier temperatures once Kiel demonstrated the proper techniques. The boy might barely know his letters, but he had a keen eye for measurements and a steady hand with the fragile glassware.

By the time the small silver bell above the door jangled the ten-hour chime, they had a neat row of tinctures and unguents decanted, sealed and labeled in Kiel's hand. He surveyed their work with satisfaction - those piddly gout syrups would keep the coin flowing for some of his more esoteric researches. His noble "clients" paid well for their little customizations, but quality reagents weren't cheap, and neither was the need for secrecy.

Kiel stretched, feeling his joints pop. Hunching over alembics was a young man's game and despite only turning twenty last summer, sometimes he felt like an old man. He glanced over at Dot, who was nodding sleepily over a half-finished packet of digestive powders. Poor mite looked done in, and no wonder - urchin or not, it had been a long day.

"All right, my enterprising assistant. I'd say we've met our quota for physicking the public. Why don't you kip in the back room tonight? You look like a stiff breeze could knock you over."

Dot blinked at him owlishly, then shook his head. "Nah, I gotta get back to my digs. Don't want no one thinking I've gone soft." But under the bravado, Kiel could see the exhaustion on his pinched face.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's pitch black out there and probably about to rain. At least take a pallet for the night. I could use your hands in the morning anyway - we've got a big order of burn salve to mix up."

He softened his tone, seeing the hesitation lurking in Dot's eyes. "It's not charity, Dot. I'd pay any other apothecary's assistant for their time. You've earned a warm bed tonight."

Dot wavered, his gaze flicking to the door and back. Kiel could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes as he weighed his street cred against the lure of a real mattress. Finally, practicality seemed to win out.

"...Awright. But just for tonight! And I'm out first thing, got places to be."

Kiel nodded solemnly. "Naturally. I'm sure you have a packed social calendar to attend to." A reluctant grin tugged at the boy's mouth.

"Too right I do! I'm a busy man, I am. Got folks to see, things to nick-"

"To bed with you, you incorrigible magpie. Before I toss you out on your ear."

Snickering, Dot scampered off to the back room. A few minutes later, Kiel heard the creak of the bed frame, then a soft sigh of contentment.

When was the last time the little tyke slept on something other than old hay and cobblestones? Maybe I can convince him to stay on more permanent-like. Until he gets his class at least...

But that was a problem for another day. Tonight, he had business to attend to. A certain high-level client with a hankering for advancement and the purse to back it. He couldn't afford to miss this appointment.

Kiel quickly and quietly gathered his tools, keeping an ear cocked for any noise from Dot's room. A soft snore reassured him that the boy was well and truly out for the count. He'd sleep like the dead until dawn, with any luck.

Slipping into his working leathers with the ease of long practice, Kiel slung his satchel over his shoulder and crept to the door. He risked one last glance toward the back room, lips thinning.

I won't be long. An hour, two at most, and I'll be back before he even knows I'm gone. Just a quick bit of business…

In a few moments a figure slipped out the back door, "Kiel the mild-mannered apprentice" vanished, replaced by an austere figure in black, a cowl shadowing his face. The [Shadow Veil] enchantment on the fabric was costly, but invaluable for moving unseen. The spell matrix worked to baffle the eye, making the wearer slide away from direct attention.

The [Shadow Veil] was supplemented by his old friends [Disguise] and [Stealth]. At Level 4 apiece, they rendered him all but undetectable to the average ne'er-do-well prowling the midnight streets. He'd slid past [Watchmen] and [Ruffians] alike, no more than a wisp of black on black.

True, a Level 5 might give him pause. But what were the odds of that? Most of the criminal element barely scraped Level 3. As for the Watch, well, he'd had a long time to learn their routes and habits. No, the only one likely to spot him tonight was Crazy Jenkins, and no one listened to him anyway.

As he moved through the slinking shadows pooling in the alleyways of the merchant district, a faint frisson of energy prickled along his skin. His [Skill Sense] pulsed in warning a split second before a hulking figure stepped out from a recessed doorway directly in his path.

"Well, well. Out for a stroll, my mysterious friend?" The speaker was a brawny man in the rough clothes and jack of a teamster. His words carried a faint slur - he'd been drinking, but there was a quarrelsome edge to his tone that raised Kiel's hackles. A drunk looking to start trouble.

Kiel cursed his luck, despite his best efforts at concealment, it seemed his [Shadow Veil] and [Disguise] skills had failed to fool the man's alcohol-addled senses.

It was a strange quirk of magic that Kiel had encountered before. Sometimes, the influence of strong drink could act as a sort of unpredictable protection against certain illusions and enchantments.

A drunk's mind, already operating on a skewed perception of reality, could occasionally see through deceptions that would fool a sober observer. Not always, of course. But often enough to be a persistent thorn in the side of those who relied on subterfuge and shadow. And tonight, it seemed, Lady Luck had decided to give that thorn an extra twist.

The man took a step forward, his hands flexing into fists. Kiel noted them with clinical detachment, [Analyzing] the heavy, work-callused knuckles, the split and scraped skin. A [Brawler], this one.

He could try to circle around, but that would take him off his carefully plotted route. The teamster was directly blocking the narrow passage he needed to traverse. To the right was a tall wooden fence, to the left a sheer brick wall. No escape there.

"Silent treatment, eh?" the man sneered, weaving slightly on his feet. "Think yer better than me, skulking around in yer fancy black rag? I asked you a question!"

Kiel sighed internally. He didn't have time for this. But he couldn't afford a confrontation either - even winning, he risked drawing attention. Fighting back his irritation, Kiel forced himself to hunch, projecting meek subservience. He pitched his voice to a nasal, unsteady quaver.

"I...I beg your pardon, sir, I meant no offense! I'm just a simple assistant, out collecting samples. Please, let me pass and I'll be on my - "

"ASSISTANT?" the man roared, incensed. "Out dressed like that? How stupid do you think I am?" He moved closer, the stench of sour beer rolling off him like a miasma. "Yer up to something, I know it. And I aim to find out what. Now why don't you just hand over that fancy satchel and maybe I won't redecorate the alley with yer face."

Kiel felt a spike of cold fury pierce the manufactured fog of his assumed persona. How dare this lout threaten him? He could strip the brute of his skills and leave him a drooling vegetable with barely a thought. It would serve him right, for his insolence.

But no. Kiel wrestled his temper back under control. Such an act would be signing his own death warrant - he could never afford to leave evidence. Still, perhaps there was another way to deal with this drunk. And when would he have a better opportunity to test his skills?

Mustering every scrap of his [Acting] talent, Kiel let a calculated tremble enter his reedy voice. "P-please, sir, I have nothing of value! Just my poor herbs and simples! I am a man of peace, not one of violence!"

As his [Acting] skill wrapped his words in deceptive harmonics, he felt something shift ever so slightly in the dynamic between them. The aggression in the man's posture wavered. Just a hairline crack, but it was enough.

Kiel seized the moment and poured his focus into the fledgeling skill he had extracted from the old soldier. "[Command: Stand Down!]"

Something rippled out from him on an intangible level, an invisible wave of pressure that swept over the teamster. The man blinked, a startled expression flickering over his ruddy features. Then, slowly, he lowered his fists and took a stumbling step backward.

"I...I don't want no trouble..." he muttered, seemingly confused by his own actions. "Just...just go on then. Get out o' here, and don't let me see you skulking around again!"

[Command] Level 4 (16%)

Kiel watched in fascination as the man shook his head like a dog shedding water, then turned and stumbled off into the shadows, still mumbling to himself. The skill had worked! He'd have to examine this "[Command]" more closely when he had the chance, it had been able to dominate the drunk’s mind with ease.

But for now, best not to linger.